You forgot to kiss my soul
by Citizen-Erased
Summary: Drug-abuse and how it affects two people, with extracts from "Muscle Museum" by Muse


You Forgot to Kiss My Soul  
  
She is on another comedown. The experience of a euphoric and overpowering arcadia is quickly disappearing and is also quickly being forgotten. All that's left now is the mind-numbing and emotionally manipulating sense of an impious existence. The head throbbing is unbearable, as is the pain of being trapped inside an unmerciful mind prison. Through the rare times when she is able to focus on something exact, something that doesn't just spawn from the never-ending sea of misguided thoughts and feelings, she wonders how such a perception of elation and a rapturous recommendation of the entire world and all of its inhabitants can so quickly decline into depravity.  
  
Sleep isn't even an option. Pills don't offer a haven of contentment, one of the many reasons why she wishes she'd merely stuck with marijuana. She can almost feel her mind buzzing from the variation of thoughts swirling around in there, which are predominantly negative and accusing. She attempts to block out the screaming that forces its way into her head. It's so realistic that when she first heard it, she believed someone was in torturous pain. She now knows that someone is…but it's only her. And strangely enough, no one seems to care of her own emotional suffering at this time, not even her boyfriend. She worries that he is becoming distant towards her; that the pills in his life are replacing her. She looks towards him now, sprawled out on the sofa of his mate's wrecked living room. She attempts a weak smile upon seeing his eyes averted to her direction. No response, and she realises that he's looking right through her, once again like she isn't even in his presence. All she can detect is a sense of apathy on his face. Right now, he doesn't care about anyone else in the world. He's in his own mind, and the love that he earlier professed to have for her is the furthest thing from his thoughts. Of course, he's on a comedown as well, but it's so much more different when compared to hers. Obviously she doesn't know what's going on in his head, but she can tell that she's not in his thoughts at all. He's forgotten and she has ceased to exist, even to him.  
  
Suddenly she feels enclosed. Her head is bursting and she needs to get out. She wants to scream herself into exhaustion and get every last scrap of unreality and disillusionment out of her system. The look of impassivity adorning his features is suffocating her and she suddenly craves a form of release in one of his adoring gazes or passionate declarations. But she receives no satisfaction, and even she can't fool herself into hoping for it. Why can't he be more for her? Why have his insecurities and urgent needs for a drug-induced lifestyle managed to penetrate through the shell of their relationship? She shakes her head, half in disgust at herself and half in disbelief that this is happening to her again, under different pretences certainly, but it's always the same in the end. Somehow she consistently chooses the ones who can only offer so much, which seems enough at first, but their downfalls soon become them and it's a major parasite in their relationship. She wonders if she's looking for too much, whether she's too needy, too co-dependent. But upon looking at the numbness of his face, she's hit with the realisation that he only has one dependency, and it certainly isn't her. His attentions on her have become much more scarce recently and she conceives that she's no longer at the top of his priority list, if indeed she ever was.  
  
Why can't he be what she needs him to be?  
  
Can you see that I am needing?  
  
Begging for so much more  
  
Than you can ever give.  
  
And I don't want you to adore me  
  
Don't want you to ignore me  
  
When it pleases you.  
  
Anger descends into her head like a plague, beating and tormenting her insides and screaming to be unleashed. She stands up, slightly dazed from the sheer force and severity of this overwhelming emotion rarely experienced under such intensity, and is oblivious to the fact that she has knocked over a half-full can of beer that had been resting next to her. She can't help but feel slightly frantic as she steps towards him, standing before him feeling inadequacy and pathos enhancing her every feature. He continues to stare forward, not once acknowledging her, and she knows that something else is standing in front of her, making itself known to him but not to her. The comedown affects them in entirely dissimilar ways.  
  
She speaks his name, five or six times, each time her voice trembling more and growing in volume and pitch. He distantly looks up at her, although there is no recognition in his eyes. She doesn't know that she is crying, or that he can see her weeping blood. The last thunderous bolt of rage and desperation channels through her and suddenly she is screaming and shouting, tearing at her hair and willing it all away. She wants no part of it anymore. She wants to see the world as it really is. She punches at the walls, scraping her knuckles. She throws the beer cans and empty glasses, making stains that are crimson and bleeding in her eyes.  
  
He remains mute and gives no indication of alarm; immobile and staring at the two-foot space in front of him.  
  
Her fury desists. She encounters the sense of apathy that she frantically wished to remove from him just moments before. She feels empty and loses all sense of motivation; helpless and destitute. She knows they have lost what they once shared but she needs one last thing from him and he will never be able to give it to her with any sense of meaning. Not now she remembers him in this way.  
  
He forgot to kiss her soul.  
  
  
  
Written by Reb  
  
30th May 2002  
  
Lyrics from "Muscle Museum" written by Matthew Bellamy 


End file.
